


The Wedding Planner

by NotpocalypseNow



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:07:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27341710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotpocalypseNow/pseuds/NotpocalypseNow
Summary: Last night I had the strangest dream...---A year after saving Eddie from Neibolt and proposing to him in front of a live studio audience, it's time for Richie and Eddie to start planning the ceremony. The person who helped save them is coming back to make sure they get the dream wedding they deserve.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	The Wedding Planner

**Author's Note:**

> This sequel to our social media AU "NEIBOLT" which you can find on twitter [@NEIBOLTmovie](https://twitter.com/NEIBOLTmovie/status/1226687579841384449)! 
> 
> Just to be 100% clear: Dylan = 1990s Eddie Kaspbrak! Tons of spoilers for the AU. Thanks for reading!!

It’s been months since he woke up in the hospital, Richie by his side, looking at him like he hung the moon and stars. It had been months since they went home together that night and Richie confessed he had always wanted to be the one to take Eddie’s virginity, Eddie shyly kissing him first before Richie whisked him away and out the door of one Sonia Kaspbrak. Eddie was his and Richie was Eddie’s, nothing could tear them apart. But something was missing.

After a long night of watching movies, they were in bed together, Eddie resting in Richie’s neck as his dream became a nightmare.

Eddie lands in the dream, a massive shadow before him.

“Did it work?” The shadow muses.

A giant turtle stands before him in a dark cave. The turtle lifts Eddie up by his ankle, holding him up to stare at him.

“All of the conditions of the deal were met but I still... I must beseech you, Maturin! I.... I want to see Eddie one more time. The other Eddie. I want Richie to meet him and I... I know it sounds selfish, but living my life knowing he’ll never remember me hurts so badly. Please...!”

The God stares at the pathetic worm in its grasp.

“IT is dead. You have no reason to summon Maturin.”

“I-I know... I know, it’s just... Please. Turtle God, I...” he takes a deep breath. “I want to... be able to say goodbye. Just one more time.”

The wise Maturin bows its great head down to the human. “IT is Dead. You are Not. I cannot grant your wish... I, too, am dead. This spectral form has only enough energy to perform this one last task. Maturin lived on in your mind but that will be no more once you have returned from the Universe from which you eliminated IT. From your mind and from his, all memories of Maturin will be gone.”

“Oh, great Maturin... does that mean Eddie will forget me either way?”

“You exist. Maturin will not. The decision does not rest with you. Nor I.”

“Thank you, Maturin...”

“I am a mere memory. The power I hold comes from you, and nothing more.”

“I understand. Goodbye... Maturin.”

Everything goes black.

An alarm wakes him up, Eddie stirring to the sound of the annoying ringing that Richie hates so much.

“Turn that shit off, Eds, c'mon, it’s my day off.” Richie reaches over to slap at the alarm, Eddie already sitting up in a cold sweat. “Uh... Rich?”

“It’s seriously gonna make my head explode, c'mon Eddie turn it off!”

Eddie reaches over to slap the head of the alarm clock, their loft suddenly looking a lot more... Futuristic. “Richie.”

Richie pulls him down into a kiss, fingers through his hair, and a snake on his face. “What is it _darlin'_?” He’s doing a southern belle voice. “You worryin’ your pretty little head about somethin’ again? When I’m right here, ripe for the pickin’?”

Eddie looks around and sees his phone buzz, seeing a text from... the boss he thought he made up. Janine? “Rich... I think I might’ve accidentally... uh... I think we’re in 2017.”

Richie takes a deep breath, yawning and pulling Eddie closer. “I’ll tell you what I’m not in right now but I’d like to be...” he whispers, tugging at Eddie’s ass, Eddie grabbing his wrist.

“Rich, I’m serious! I uh... I have to go. I have something I have to do right away, okay?” He hops out of bed with a spring in his step, searching his closet for his favorite white suit.

“Once you’ve come to your senses, give me a call on that phone, okay? I’ll probably be in your Contacts already. You’ll have to figure out how to use that thing, but I’m sure you’ll be fine.” He’s already sliding on his clothes to Richie’s bewilderment.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” Richie mumbles, clearly intrigued.

Eddie adjusts his tie and buckles his belt. “I’m... Dylan right now. Sorry, I can’t talk right now but, I love you.” He rushes over and gives Richie a sweet kiss on the cheek before grabbing his phone and running out.

He has to meet Eddie and Richie for their first consultation. It’s his first day on the job, after all... as Dylan Campbell, Wedding Planner.

* * *

  
He’s late, Eddie thinks, checking his watch, then checking the clock above the door as he nervously paces the office of Maturin Events. He stares down the ficus in the corner, willing it to spontaneously combust under his glare. Stupid fucking plant. Stupid fucking office. Didn’t they know he had a wedding to plan? Shit to order? They were running out of time to make sure everything was _perfect._

The receptionist at the front pops her gum and glares at him, reminding him again in a bored tone, “Sir, your appointment isn’t until 10. Please take a seat, you’re our first client of the day and you’re starting to wear a hole in the carpet.”

With an annoyed huff, Eddie sits down in the chair between Richie and his folder filled with wedding ideas. “Can you believe this?” He crosses his arms over his chest and pulls out his phone, opening one of many Pinterest boards dedicated to the wedding.

Richie puts his arm around Eddie’s neck and pulls him close, kissing into his hair. He knows Eddie has a no PDA rule, but they’re in a wedding planning office so it’s not like they have anything to hide. “I can’t believe I get to sit next to you right here right now,” he grins. “We’re getting fucking _married_ , Eds. I can barely believe I’m fucking awake right now.”

Richie’s excitement uncoils the anxiety in his chest. He relaxes in Richie’s grasp, a smile tugging on his lips; it’s hard not to get caught up in his own disbelief that—after everything—they’ve made it this far. That thought alone makes him reach down and take Richie’s hand in his, grasping it tightly, like he never wanted to let go.

Dylan rushes through the door, locking eyes with the two of them as his rosy cheeks turn even rosier with his big smile. “You must be Richie and Eddie...! It’s... it’s amazing to meet you both in person. My name is Dylan Campbell and I’m honored to announce that I’ll be your Wedding Planner.”

Richie’s eyes are huge, “What.... the fuck?”

Eddie’s heart nearly pounds out of his chest as a blonde man bursts through the door with a flurry of sound. But it’s not enough to explain Richie’s startled cry next to him. Did they know each other? Is that why Richie recommended this event planning service?

Eddie turns a neutral glare towards Dylan, eyeing his choice of fashion critically as he looks him up and down. The man was cute and flushed, with a smile that seemed to light up the room, but Eddie was not amused. He extends a hand for Dylan to shake, “Hi. Edward Kaspbrak. So nice to finally meet you.”

Dylan takes both of Eddie’s hands in his, looking absolutely taken aback. “Charmed. You seem like a really wonderful man, Edward Kaspbrak.” He smiles thoughtfully at Richie.

Richie shakily rises from the chair, “Richie. Richie Tozier. Uh, you said your name is Dylan?”

“Funny guy, I’ve seen your TV specials!” Dylan takes Richie's hand in his and smiles at him, “It’s so good to see the two of you,” he says genuinely.

Richie blinks, tears running from his eyes as he finally lets go of his hands. “S'cuse me,” he whispers, letting go to rush to the bathroom. 

“Rich?” Eddie’s head whips as he calls after him, not understanding why there are suddenly tears in Richie’s eyes. The abrupt shift in mood is a little dizzying.

Richie’s in the bathroom bent over the toilet. No way, there’s no fucking way. Dylan Campbell. He’s real...?

Dylan looks thrilled. Way too thrilled. “May I call you Eddie?”

Eddie doesn’t like the way this guy says his name. He can’t help the annoyed furrow of his brows as he asks to call him ‘Eddie’ when his smile looks like _that_. His annoyance for it buzzes like bees in his head. “Sure,” he says tightly.

Dylan looks pleased by his answer, watching Richie go and lightly placing a hand on Eddie’s arm. “This may sound a bit strange, but... it’s not uncommon for grooms to get emotional at their first appointment. I was almost sorry to interrupt you when I walked up,” his eyes look so sincere. “You both look like you love each other so much, so... The second I saw you I knew I wanted to help you plan the most special day of your lives. It would mean the world to me...”

Eddie forces himself to swallow down the question of “How often do you wash your hands?” before it rips itself from his throat. Instead, he frowns down, unable to hear the rest of the man’s—Dylan’s?—words as he stares at the hand on his arm. Too overly familiar, with a sappy fucking spiel about him being ‘the one.’

He hears his therapist’s voice in his head, urging him to practice radical acceptance whenever he felt the familiar burn of anger in his chest, and takes a deep breath. “Yeah, Rich gets like this sometimes, but it’s been a while. Do you have a trashcan in your office? We’ll need it in case he needs to throw up again.”

Richie’s washing his face, his stomach a little emptier as he stares at himself in the mirror with horror.

He wasn’t still dreaming, was he?

He takes a deep breath and steps out of the bathroom, appearing just as Eddie pulls away from Dylan to take Eddie’s hand in his again. “Sorry. Back now. Sorry.” He sounds firm and a little suspicious, his grip on Eddie’s hand reassuring. Dylan folds his hands with a warm smile, greeting Richie with a wave that makes him physically gag.

The sight of Richie seems to make Eddie's anger melt away. He smiles at Richie when he returns, eyes crinkling warmly, “You good?"

Richie takes in Dylan's smile with a “what the fuck” expression, feeling Eddie’s eyes on him. His expression melts into affection when he sees Eddie’s walls visibly come down in his presence. “Yeah’m good,” he assures him, rubbing his hand with his thumb before Dylan gestures down the hall.

“I have a trashcan with an unscented bag and a tight titanium lid. Cleanliness is the closest one can get to godliness,” he smiles gently. “Not that I’m one of _those_ types, of course. I just like keeping my garbage tidy. My boyfriend has the same issue and I suspect his stomach won’t be feeling very well today either. Right this way,” he rambles, gesturing for them to follow.

Eddie immediately feels himself starting to trust Dylan the moment he mentions cleanliness and his choice of trashcan. He turns towards Richie as he steps forward to start following Dylan and freezes when he sees his expression.

Richie looks at Eddie with only the slightest concern. “Hey... this is really happening. Right?”

Richie’s question makes him think Dylan’s speculation about nerves making him sick might actually be true. He squeezes Richie’s hand tightly, the other hand cupping Richie’s jaw to pull him in for a quick kiss, “Yeah, dumbass. It’s really happening. Aren’t getting cold feet after everything, are you?”

When Eddie pulls Richie in for a kiss, he closes his eyes and kisses back feeling absolutely swept off his feet. All anxieties about this not being real leave him.

This is Eddie.

He’s alive.

He’s right here.

He’s not going anywhere.

Richie’s eyelashes flutter when Eddie pulls away, the look on his face a dumb one. “Could never get cold feet if it’s you, Eds....”

Eddie smiles back at Richie, moving to pick up his folder of magazines and photos, “Being here makes it feel more real than staring at all of my Pinterest boards before bed. I’m... so fucking happy, Rich. Thank you for giving me his number.”

He swallows the sea of emotions bubbling in his stomach and coughs into his hand to compose himself.

His number. How did he find it? It just... showed up when he googled and this place had amazing reviews. Maturin sounded like a cool name, there was just something about it.

Eddie’s voice breaks through his crisis. A sun on a cloudy day. Shut up stupid annoying in-love brain.

Richie rushes over to him, putting an arm around his shoulder and feeling like...everything is going to be okay.

“I’m so fucking happy to be here with you, too, Eds.” He kisses the top of his head and rubs his shoulder. “I’ll do fucking anything to make this happen, you know that.”

Dylan hears them coming down the hallway, checking his phone, and trying to stifle his giggle. Looks like Richie figured out how to call him and has left approximately 7 voicemails. Dylan listens to the first one as Eddie and Richie make their way to the office.

“SPAGHETTI MAN??? THE YEAR? ARE WE SERIOUSLY IN THE FUTURE?? COME BACK, MARTY MCFLY!! WE’RE NOT IN DERRY ANYMORE AND I DON’T KNOW WHERE TO FIND A DELOREAN!” Dylan snickers and sends a quick text to calm him down as Richie and Eddie approach his office.

His text reads,  
>I love you.  
>Stay inside and I’ll explain everything!  
>You’re safe, I promise.  
>Be home, soon!

Eddie smiles into Richie’s shoulder, throwing an arm around his waist and squeezing him tightly. They walk down the hall like this until Eddie reaches the doorway marked with ‘Dylan Campbell’ and steps through in time to hear Dylan laughing at something on his phone.

Eddie has to admit that the gentle smile on Dylan’s face as he texts on his phone is cute. The man’s adorable act is hard to ignore; Eddie thinks he's definitely the kind of person who captured a lot of hearts unintentionally.

“Texting your boyfriend?” Eddie quips with a knowing smirk, leading Richie through the doorway by the hand. He sets down his pile of wedding inspiration onto Dylan’s desk with a muffled thump, hard enough to make the cup of pens rattle.

Dylan puts his phone away and folds his hands, “Having too much fun, was I? Yes! He barely knows how to use his phone, it’s like texting my grandfather.” He giggles again just thinking about him, warming up when Eddie smiles at him.

Richie sits down, locking eyes with the blonde man, with Dylan, knowing look on his face. Dylan seems to ignore his expression, rubbing his hands together.

“Looking at the Pinterest inspiration boards is always my favorite part. Eddie, will you walk me through these? I want every detail about your vision,” his cheeks are rosy, his voice upbeat, everything about him glowing.

Richie holds back a sigh. Being here with Eddie is more than he could have asked for but Eddie has been a bit of a... Groomzilla. Not that he would have it any other way, of course, but this weird dream man he thought he made up... how would he handle it?

“Be careful what you wish for, we only booked your time for an hour. Eddie’s vision’ll take you ten years and a doctorate to wrap your head around every detail.”

“Fuck off,” he flips Richie off before opening the folder and also pulling out his phone. “If it were up to you, we’d have just gone to Vegas and called it a day and Ben and Bev would have _murdered_ us.”

Eddie points to the first magazine, Fine Gardening, “On page 38, you’ll find the outdoor setting I was hoping to have; I want it to be an open, natural space and it must happen at dusk.” A housekeeping magazine, “The set of candles and string lights I want at the reception,” to a torn picture from a different magazine that Eddie looks at disdainfully, “The suit that I need your help convincing Richie to never wear.”

Without stopping, he pulls out his phone and starts flipping through albums of photos he’s saved for this purpose: dimly lit receptions, allergen-friendly bouquets, and sweet photos of couples sharing their first dances. “And I haven’t even shown you my Pinterest boards of colors and reception table decorations. But... the feeling I’m going for is a cozy morning sunrise. One of those mornings where you wake up early and don’t want to leave bed.”

Dylan bites his lip, all of it makes him want to... “Eddie, it sounds beautiful. The vision in your head...” his breathing gets shallow and tears form in his eyes. “All of it sounds so beautiful. I want to see every Pinterest board you have, show it all to me.”

It’s him.

Richie’s heard Eddie talk about the symbolism 100 times, it’s still very romantic but seeing this... seeing Dylan react to it like that has him suspicious. He reaches out and takes Eddie’s hand under the table, eying Dylan suspiciously. “Do you always cry at these?” says the guy who puked five minutes ago.

“I....” Dylan gathers himself, wiping his eyes and offering a wet smile. “I rarely get to help plan a marriage between two men. Forgive me if, as a gay man, seeing two men be this in love with each other and planning a wedding so beautiful has me emotional... Richie.”

Richie gets shivers when Dylan says his name. What the fuck was going on..?

“I’m glad you agree,” Eddie, caught up in the emotion of the details of his wedding, feels teary-eyed himself at Dylan’s explanation. He’s never felt more understood by someone else before, Richie loved his ideas but this—this was different. Reverent, almost. How the fuck did they get so lucky in the first call? He grips Richie’s hand tightly and gives Dylan a watery smile.

“I get it. I... can’t tell you how grateful I am knowing you’re the one helping me plan something so special to us—I didn’t think I could trust anyone but myself to do it.”

Dylan looks overcome by Eddie’s reaction. “I didn’t mean to make you cry, I just...! I’m overcome! It’s rare I find a client that I, well, feel this way about. I can’t put it into words.” He smiles at Eddie, “I want to make this everything you ever dreamed of.” We ever dreamed of, he thinks.

Richie remembers Eddie and Dylan ended up having some kind of weird connection in the dream, looking between the two and trying to understand. He squeezes Eddie’s hand back, deciding this was creeping him out a bit.

“You’re not gonna be able to talk me out of wearing that suit,” Richie warns. “If Eddie can’t do it, you can’t d—“

Dylan already has the clipping of the cursed suit, lifting it up before Richie and shakes his head. “If my husband wore this to the most important day of our lives even though he knew how much I hated it... he would be the one to suffer, not me. I would have come to terms with how annoying he could be, but when he looked back on the photos and the videos of him dancing around in that suit, the look on my face like I wished he’d be wearing anything else... he’d have to live with that forever. Not me.”

Richie’s quiet, looking at Eddie, eyebrows furrowing. “Fuck, it was just a joke! Fuck me for trying to bring some levity to my own damn wedding,” he grumbles. “I won’t wear the damn suit...”

A grin spreads across Eddie’s face when Dylan begins to rip apart Richie’s suit, completely tearing him apart in a way that leaves him feeling awed and a little afraid by his power of persuasion. Dylan seems to understand him on a deeper level, and his argument is admittedly something he couldn’t have put better himself.

Eddie presses an apologetic kiss to Richie’s shoulder, shaking with muffled laughter. “Love you, Richie, I really do, but this velvet suit is not the way to bring levity to our wedding. I will support you in any other way, I promise.”

“I know, Eds. I wasn’t actually gonna wear it, it was just a joke,” he leans his head into him like a bored kid stuck at a car dealership with their mom.

Dylan smiles at Eddie, “I can't wait until we get to flower arrangements and live music. Your boards gave me so many ideas and I know a couple of florists that are good at very particular types of flowers. I would never trust just ONE, but I have about four on call that would be perfect.”

Eddie’s brows raise at the mention of flowers, “You have four florists on call that be able to accommodate my very specific allergies? I’m impressed. Can’t wait to find out how many caterers you know with gluten-free, soy-free, and dairy-free meal options that aren’t salads.”

Eddie smells so nice, Richie could doze off... the thought of dozing off jolts him out of Eddie’s nape, what if he wakes up and Eddie’s gone again...?

Dylan catches Richie’s jolt and clears his throat, “I, um, know this sounds _too good to be true_ , Richie, but I promise this really _is happening_. I really can get you a full three meal course that checks all of those boxes, as well as a cafe.” He sounds serious and nods to Richie then downplays it, “I know a baker who’s been experimenting with low but natural sugar content, gluten-free crusts, and flourless chocolate cakes.”

Richie bites his tongue but nods, “Yeah, yeah. Sounds perfect. Too g-good to be—“ he gags a little.

Dylan’s already up and pushes the trashcan towards him with his foot, phone buzzing in his pocket. Richie has now learned how to text. The message reads, “I CANT STOP PUKING PLEASE COME HOME”

Dylan sighs and hides his phone, foot pressing down in the trashcan’s button, lifting the lid. “Maybe you both just... deserve too good to be true. It’s all real, you’re here and so am I and...we’re making this happen. Okay?”

Richie believes him. His clenched band on Eddie’s relaxes a bit. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m not gonna... yeah, m’fine. Keep talking about gluten or whatever...”

“Flourless chocolate cake?” Eddie salivates at the thought, thinking of the cake at his favorite cafe. Maybe the very same one Dylan mentioned. He idly wonders if he could convince Richie to go there after this appointment for lunch and leans over to rub Richie’s back soothingly. He’s completely unbothered by the sounds of his puking. He thinks it’s weird that Dylan seems as unaffected, and seemed to know exactly when to push the trashcan in front of Richie.

“You’re sweet, thank you for saying that. I... feel really good about this and about meeting you today. It’s—shit, sorry, I just really feel like I can trust you.” He looks at with Dylan a sigh, “I have to be honest—I’ve scared away every caterer and florist I called trying to organize this on my own—I can be a real shithead about having control. I promise it’s worse than any client you’ve ever had.” He looks back at Dylan nervously.

Dylan steps over, leaning against his desk with a confident smile, “I like you both so much already. I really have to insist that you don’t worry, I um, tend to be a little difficult, myself. I’m happy you trust me.”

His smile is gentle, completely unguarded.

“Eddie, I want to make your special day feel like your special day. It’s perfect, see? You tell me what you want and I do the negotiating! If you already trust me, that’s half the battle.”

He holds his hand out for a handshake, “Meeting the two of you today was everything I hoped it would be and I mean that, truly, from the bottom of my heart. Does that mean you’d like to have a next meeting with me?”

Eddie laughs, eyes crinkling, “I get the feeling people have trouble telling your sweet face ‘no’. That stopped working for me after I turned sixteen.” He takes Dylan’s hand and shakes it firmly. “But honestly. I’m really looking forward to working with you to make our ceremony the greatest it can possibly be.” His lip upturns with a small, honest smile.

“I doubt that, you’re so handsome,” Dylan comments. He shakes his hand, their movements in tandem. “I’m so happy you’ll be moving forward with me, it really means a lot to me. I think the two of you remind me of a couple I’m really rooting for, so helping plan your wedding will be like a dream come true..!”

There’s a knock at the door, a red-headed man standing behind the glass, knocking away.

“Speak of the devil,” Dylan mumbles.

Eddie’s lip curls into something between amused and annoyed. He knows from the way Dylan responds, affectionate—maybe a little frustrated?—that the frantic man in front of the glass is his aforementioned boyfriend. It’s a relatable feeling, one that he frequently has whenever Richie is doing something he deems particularly stupid. His brow lifts, disapproving; he can’t wait to tell Richie how stupid he thinks this guy’s mustache is. “Is that the other half of the couple you’re rooting for?”

Dylan looks through the glass door at his red-headed mess of a boyfriend who, unfortunately, knows his name isn’t Dylan and could blow his cover at any moment. He’s a little impressed he found him so quickly, but he’s always been pretty scrappy.

Dylan looks back at Eddie with the smile of a man who’s about to wordlessly communicate to his boyfriend in desperation. “My eyes must say it all. I can’t help it... look at him. I can’t help but root for them.”

He slides the door open, eyes locked with the man who’s clearly his boyfriend.

“Who the hell are they?? I’m freaking out, Spagh—“

Dylan takes him by the cheeks and kisses him to shut him up, staring at him, cheeks pink. “ _Ronnie_. I have clients right now, babe,” he blinks and tries to wordlessly communicate with a breathless “Ronnie”, shutting the door behind him.

“Ronnie??”

Dylan pecks him on the mouth again, “Wait for me in the lobby, okay? I’ll... explain everything soon.” He looks at his lips then his eyes, “Okay?”

“Ronnie”... is so whipped. He just nods, looking confused and a little like a zombie, nodding his head. “Yeah... yeah okay, sure. Don’t leave again, okay? Terrified me.”

“I won’t, I won’t. Just... soon, okay?”

Richie looks over at Eddie with his arms folded, a little shocked Dylan really went for it. “That tall guy looks like an idiot. Wouldn’t have pegged him as uh Dylan’s type.”

“Huh, pretty sure I heard Stan say the same thing about me and you,” Eddie scoffs, watching Ronnie and Dylan with bewildered amusement. He can’t help being a little fond, instantly endeared by how easily Dylan turns Ronnie into putty in his hands. So whipped. Suddenly, the last of his worries about the wedding slip away and he feels calm about it for the first time in months, and he leans into Richie and laces their hands together with a sigh. “Can we get waffles at that brunch place on our way home? I’ve had a craving since we got here.”

“Stan’s such a dick.” Richie feels Eddie lean into him, their fingers lacing together. “You? Want waffles?” Richie’s smile is warm, leaning over and rubbing his face in Eddie’s hair, “Yeah, babe, of course. I’ll even order for ya. Love ya, Eds,” he mumbles into his hair, planting a kiss on his head. “I’m happy we’re here.”

“Me too, Rich.” Eddie breathes in Richie's familiar scent, enjoying the feeling of his weight slumped against him as they wait for Dylan to come back, watching his and Ronnie’s interaction through the window. He can’t even begin to imagine a world where he and Richie were _that_ freely affectionate with each other in spaces not behind closed doors. Not that he’d be able to do the same without having a panic attack.

Ronnie gulps, nodding. “Okay, Spaghetti. I’m just... real lost, more lost than Tanya Harding at the Olympics after ‘94, know what I mean?”

Dylan chuckles, touching his face. “I do, but... call me Dylan until I say not to, okay? I promise. Right now you’re Ronnie and I’m Dylan. I’ll explain soon, I promise. I love you, Rich.” He kisses him again, a little tongue sliding in this time. “I’ll treat you and everything just trust me.”

Ronnie looks at the “clients” then back at “Dylan”. “Whatever you say, Dylan Magellan. I’ll come up with somethin’ better,” he kisses his cheek and they touch each other’s arms before Ronnie parts.

He stumbles over to the lobby, rubbing his head in his hands. He has no idea what’s going on, but he trusts his “Dylan” more than anything.

Dylan clears his throat as he walks back into his office. “So sorry about that! I left without saying goodbye and.... well, I think Ronnie’s very in love with me.”

Richie looks up from Eddie’s hair, “He’s gotta feel lucky to bag ya when he’s still rocking a stache like that.”

Eddie shakes with laughter, his original train of thought lost to Richie’s joke, “Fuck, don't be a dick—the pornstache is definitely, uh—it sounds like you really love it—him!—too, Dylan!” His voice cracks as he fumbles through hiding his real thoughts on that horrible mustache.

Dylan feels like he’s not in on a joke, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow, “I think it suits him. It’s a clean mustache, he doesn’t go around with stubble all over his chin, so kissing him only tickles in the best way,” he bites back at Richie’s 5 o'clock shadow, straightening some papers and clearing this throat.

Richie rubs his chin and laughs to himself, point taken.

“Our next steps are going to be setting up a few more meetings this week to discuss catering, venues, music, ceremony, and tuxes. Does that sound acceptable?”

“Right,” Eddie clears his throat, flushing pink as Dylan’s comment makes him remember the hot sting of every time Richie has left beard burn behind on his thighs. His voice cracks with embarrassment, “Great! I can’t wait to see what other ideas you have for the ceremony. I feel like I can really trust you.” His smile turns genuine, softening the features of his face. “Wednesday okay?”

Dylan seems to notice Eddie’s train of thought, smiling to himself as he steps over to shake his hand again. “I’ll see you Wednesday, then! Let’s do 10-11 AM, make it reasonable. It really was so wonderful, meeting the two of you.” His eyes crinkle when he smiles.

“Wonderful meeting you, Dylan,” Eddie nods once and waves, stepping through the doorway before this gets any more awkward. He finds himself uncomfortably warmed by Dylan’s knowing smile. He tugs Richie through the doorway, “You won’t puke at the sight of waffles, will you Rich?”

Richie looks back at Dylan as they leave. “Hell no, I fuckin’ love waffles. You really liked that guy, huh?”

Dylan breathes a sigh of relief as Richie and Eddie leave, passing by a tired Ronnie in the lobby. Ronnie is staring at a flat-screen TV playing ads with wide eyes.

Eddie shakes his head, “His taste might be _dated_ ,” he says with a huff, thinking both about Ronnie in the lobby and Dylan’s clothing choice. “But I can tell his instinct is right. And he really just understands the atmosphere I’m trying to set for us. I feel really lucky.” He turns a wary smile up at Richie. “It’s like it’s almost too good to be true. I think the only other person I hit it off with like this is... you.”

“You think we hit it off when we first met? You told me you were gonna push me off a fucking cliff the first day!” Richie opens the front door of the building for them, gently letting go of Eddie’s hand.

“Yeah, and the fact that you somehow turned it into a joke about my mom and insulted me is how I knew you were the one,” Eddie’s tone has become teasing and he punches Richie on the shoulder lightly.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen _you_ hit it off with anyone. So uh, mind if I ask what makes you say that?”

They turn a corner towards the area behind the building. Eddie can sense Richie’s hesitation and grabs a hold of his shoulders, stopping them in the shade.

“Honestly? He had good answers for every single thing I knew I’d lose my shit over. But he seemed to understand every hang-up I had about making sure our day was perfect and wasn’t as patronizing as everyone else I had talked to who couldn’t wait to gush about their favorite drag queens and wanted to talk to me about going to pride together like I, like—I was—supposed to just—understand! who she was talking because I’m half of the gay wedding she had always dreamed of planning!” He’s a little breathless by the end of it, words having stumbled into each other in his anger and his gestures becoming wild. He rolls his eyes again before looking back at Richie in surprise.

“Wow. I think I was more resentful of the first planner than I thought. My point is, Rich,” he looks at Richie seriously, brows so furrowed the space between his eyes has disappeared. “Wait. Did you not like him? Is everything okay?”

Richie feels a lot of things click when Eddie says all of that. He looks down at his lips then back up at him, cupping his face in his hand and pressing their lips together for just a moment.

“I love you, Eddie. A fucking lot, okay?” He pats him on the cheek and offers a crooked smile. “Everything’s fine, I just, uh, wanted to make sure you weren’t just telling me that and shit. I can tell you’re being honest. Let’s go get those waffles.”

The confession is so sweet that Eddie thinks that if this--them kissing sweetly outside the event planning agency--is what ultimately ends up as a photo on gossip websites speculating about the upcoming wedding, he’ll kill the person who took it. It’s like they don’t know the meaning of the word privacy.

Especially because he also feels like Richie isn’t being completely honest with him. He raises his brows skeptically, feeling a bit like a paranoid asshole. “You sure? Nothing about this is bothering you at all? You puked the second Dylan got there.”

Shit. “Yeah, well, he looked like some guy I knew and it just surprised me. I’ll just talk to him and sort it out, I’m sure it’s just a coincidence or I’m just fucking crazy at this point. The latter is more likely than you think!” Richie has awful night terrors now. He jokes often about being crazy to Eddie who doesn’t seem to enjoy those jokes very much. “Waffle time?” He sounds desperate.

Like someone he knew? Talk about an overreaction. There was definitely something else there. “You’re not crazy, Rich,” he’s frowning again, staring at the lines of stress in Richie’s face with quiet concern. He decides to drop it for now.

“Okay. Waffle time.” He shakes his head and steps away towards the driver’s side of their car.

Richie grimaces, feeling bad about the way Eddie reacted to his usual concern that he’s losing his mind. He hates it when Eddie looks at him like that. “And don’t fight with the Waffle House guy again or we’re gonna get banned for good, Eds, I swear this time.” He trails off as he hops in the car.

Richie’s laughing when everything goes dark. He starts falling backwards, fingertips cold, that sinking feeling at the bottom of his stomach coming back to him. He’s in a dark, empty room that exists in the back of his mind, and his greatest fear envelopes him as the shadow standing across from him folds its hands.

“What the fuck…?” Richie manages, the shadow stepping towards him, its hands placing themselves on his shoulders, that familiar voice echoing in his ears.

“Richie. It’s time to wake up.”


End file.
